Allison argued my point. She was really bothered by what she had witnessed, and I wasn’t sure why? At least not to the extent she was carrying on. She was a federal agent, after all. She carried a firearm and in some cases I was sure had to enforce law, or serve a warrant, something where physical force might have to be administered.
"You could have kept him safe by pulling him from the water and then taking him home. I’m just not sure the rest of it was necessary.”
I was still in control, externally. Inside I was turning a shade cooler. I replied with my calm intact. “And then what? So they push a little kid into the water, they don’t know if he can swim, or if he hit his head, and on that particular day there is no one around to stop them. They laugh it off while the kid drowns, that a better scenario?”
Allison quickly responded, “That wasn’t the case Kevin.”
“No, Allison, not today, because we were there. But unchecked, that behavior continues. Without someone stepping in and saying enough, that nonsense continues without consequence to the idiots that perpetrate it.”
"And you’re that guy, aren’t you? You alone are going to stamp out the evil in this world?”
The exchange was spiraling out of control. There wasn’t going to be an easy out.
"When it comes to Ethan, yes.”
Allison pulled into the drive and stopped. She was looking through the windshield and attempting to regain her composure. “I don’t want to leave you like this,” she said in softer tones.
I touched Ethan on the shoulder, asked him to say goodbye to Allison, and go inside. He was out of the car and up on the porch in a second. The conversation had gotten to be enough for him as well.
I got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. I kneeled and placed both hands on the door. Looking at her, I wanted to say something to make it all alright, make it what it was the night before. Now my heart was beating.
"Look,” she began. I interrupted her.
"You have to know something about me,” I said while staring downward. “I don’t know much about matters like this. I know what I believe in, I know what I will fight for, and that’s about it. What happened out there, yes, that’s me, that’s what I do when someone hurts someone dear to me. You don’t agree--”
It was her turn to interrupt, “I’m sorry, Kevin. I know how much Ethan means to you. I’ve known you for less than forty-eight hours. I had no right to judge you the way I did. I’m sorry, I get it, I see what matters to you, it’s just a shock, that’s all. I overreacted and I’m sorry for that. It scared me, the thought of you getting hurt scared me, and I reacted.”
I smiled at her, “So it’s not your love of gang members that made you hate me out there?”
She laughed as she reached out to touch my face. “No, Kevin, no misplaced sentiment for the gang members, and I didn’t hate you. You scared me, just a little, and I freaked out. Forgive me?”
I answered by softly kissing her. I heard Ethan cheer from the front door, and we both laughed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the weeks that followed her leaving, I reflected on what had been up until that point, the most dangerous time in my life. I knew the world for what it was, at least what it always had been for me. I was sure in the elements, I was gifted and trained and acclimated to survive where many had perished. Now there was this. Will, my grandfather, neither had prepared me for Allison Collins. Every day we spoke on the phone. Each night she would call, or I would call her, and for an hour or more we would speak of our few hours together and the hours and days that would someday be ours. I was getting better at it, talking to a woman, listening, finding out what made her tick. To some degree it was like a training session. You asked questions, received answers, learned quickly what she responded to and what left her cold. Whatever I had been blessed with physically, mentally, in terms of the human struggle, and ways to end it, I had lost out on completely in this realm. At some point I had given up trying so hard. No mind works with almost everything you’ve been trained repeatedly to do when speaking to the one you want to be with, not such a great roadmap for success.
When I’d really cocked it up a couple of times, I’d chalked it up to my Neanderthal existence. Allison let it go to that point sometimes, other times not. When she debated and redebated, and made various references to why her argument was a cogent one and why I was misguided, uneducated on the topic at hand, or just plain old full of hot air, I would simply submit.
She couldn’t know how many times I had won in the arena where someone walks away, and the other experiences their last breath. Giving in to a discussion, or matter of politics, did not hurt my feelings or undermined my manhood. I was a monster with a heart.
Our time apart was weighing heavily on her. I could tell. For me, it was almost a safety net. I enjoyed knowing she was alive and safe and there. Over the phone I could be whatever she needed me to be. In person, out in the open, well we saw how that worked out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ethan was growing up nicely. His attitude was so aligned with his father’s it was if reincarnation truly existed. I watched him laugh and play and move about his day and it was enough for me. It was my obligation, but moreover it was an honor. Ever since the incident at the park he had been just a little different. His views about me, about what occurred, had left him with questions. Oh how the boy had questions. He asked about why they had done what they did, why I had done what I did, and how he could learn to be more like me. That last one had made me wince, and he noticed. I explained to him as best I could that some people, not all, not even most, but some people do bad things to other people for no other reason than they feel like it, they’re wired wrong, don’t understand right from wrong, and if they do, they chose to ignore it. Ethan was placated by my response to a point, said he understood not everyone was good, his father had told him that, but it was my actions that he wanted to know more about, how I learned to do the things I did. I attempted a brief explanation and he would have none of it. The kid was too much like his father. I poured him a glass of milk and tried to change the subject to golf. It was, after all, his passion.
"Uncle Kevin, I’m going to be eleven in two weeks. I know you think of me as just a kid, but I’m not.”
I’d placed the milk back in the fridge, turned toward him, “I know, buddy. You’re not a normal kid anyway.” I smiled as I said it and he ignored the remark, continued on his path to enlighten me.
"My dad always tried to hide bad stuff from me. And he died. Someone bad killed him and I’ll never know why--”
I hoped my face revealed nothing, wore the placid shield I urged it to, for inside me the barrel was rolling, toppling end over end as it bounced around my heart, into my spine, enveloping my guts and saturating them in white phosphorous. “Someone bad killed him.” You don’t know the half of it kid.
"I don’t want to be this stupid kid who doesn’t know anything, Uncle Kevin. I want to be strong, I want to be brave, I want to learn to fight. Fight like you fight.”
I did my best to remain dispassionate in the light of his request. Peter would object to it, almost certainly, but what he was asking for was no different than two scared little boys asked of a man who sat in this same exact spot just a few decades prior.
I let go a sigh, “Look pal, I get it, you got pushed down by some jerk at the park--”
"Pushed into a lake Uncle Kevin.”
"Okay, pushed into a lake. It was stupid and unfortunate, but even if you’d know all the kung-fu in the world at that point, what difference would it have made?”
Ethan thought for a second. “I would have seen it coming. If I’d known something, I would have known, and I could have defended myself, just like you did for me.”
Ethan was not going to give up.
"What about your pops telling you he wanted you to use your head for something other than a punching bag?”
“That’s what I’m saying, if you help me, it won’t be some asshole
’s punching bag, I’ll be able to fight back.”
I tried to stifle the giggle, but couldn’t, “Some assholes? Where’d you hear that language, buddy?”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Kevin, I just want to learn to fight. I don’t want to be afraid.”
I couldn’t argue with that. What was the worst that could happen? Would he grow up to be like me? No, I thought not, he wanted what most little boys want that have been beaten down by a bully, some confidence back.
“Fine, you want to learn to defend yourself, I’m totally on board with that. But listen to me, okay? What I show you is, number one, between us. It’s not for showboating with your friends, or becoming one of those ‘butt holes’ you described earlier. Got it?” He nodded and said yes. “And two, what you take from me is just what I called it, defense, as in defense of your life when someone attacks you, not if some kid from school calls you a ‘girl’, or tells you, ‘nice face fart breath’, or any silly shit like that, got it?”
Ethan was laughing now. I was sure the fart breath thing had cracked his serious veneer for the moment.
"I promise, Uncle Kevin. I swear I will only use what you show me if overwhelming odds oppose me.”
Ethan was smiling, proud of himself for the witticism. What a smartass, same as his dad at that age without a doubt.
I tried to put off the lessons until after dinner, no dice. The kid’s patience was comparable to a great white’s when the blubber infused seal was overhead. We were out in the barn ten minutes after our agreement was sealed.
Ethan was dancing around the bag taking shots at it from all corners, moving his feet back and forth in an ALI-esqe shuffle before I was able to quiet him and his overzealous efforts. I called him to me, made a second deal with him on the spot. “The things I know, the things I’m willing to teach you, they come with a price.”
He was barely listening, his body still moving in a side to side pattern, his eagerness to get on with it. “Ethan stop,” I said with a muster of force.
His body came to an abrupt halt. My tone had been serious enough to illicit stillness. I began again, “This isn’t golf, it isn’t basketball, nothing about this is a game. The things we’ll do out here are intended to do one thing. Do you know what that is?”
Ethan shook his head back and forth while answering, “no” His eyes were wide and his face was wearing a mask painted with equal parts excitement and dread.
"Stop a threat,” I answered. “And to do that, to stop another person from hurting you, you have to hurt them. Understand?”
Ethan’s understanding of this was so minimal he didn’t know whether to answer yes or no. “It really doesn’t matter if you understand right now, because I will repeat it countless times, at least on this point I will. Just remember this, use these tools only if forced to do so. Fight only if no other option applies. If I hear of you hurting someone, just because you can, then this all stops, we clear?”
Ethan was a bit shaken, and that was good, in fact that was perfect. He had to know how serious this was, and how serious I was about it.
For the next hour it was if time had reversed itself and me with it. Nothing ever really changes, I supposed. Not for men like myself, or my father, or his father, and now Ethan.
This time in his life, same as it was in mine, now to start anew. We are born and then we become. For some it is always unclear, and for others not. As we threw straight punches into the air, uppercuts, right and left hooks, I wondered, what would it be like if these things, and people who knew these things, were unnecessary. How much better off would the world be if men like me were obsolete, and not because a better system presented itself, but because the need not be at all. Not in my lifetime, and probably not in Ethan’s. So for now I put aside the philosophy of why and walked toward the border’s edge where the truth could still be seen, where men born with an instinct to protect taught the others cut from that cloth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Time once again passed in its familiar pattern. A day turns into a week, a week into a month, and so on. Ethan had turned a year older, and I would soon as well. It was nearing the holidays. Thanksgiving had come and gone, and Christmas would soon be upon us. Allison and I remained in contact, but the fire we had started several months ago had burned down to an ember. I felt things for her I couldn’t remember ever feeling for another, but the distance, and the struggle of operating inside the world of a normal human mind, where things outside of vigilance and protection, and paranoia, were often times too much for me to handle. It wasn’t me I felt sorry for, as much as Ethan. He really liked Agent Collins. Whenever we spoke on the phone, he made sure to ring out a “tell her hi for me” blurb, and asked frequently when she would return. He’d have the rest of his life to figure out those types of questions.
For now it was my favorite time of the year, Ethan’s too, as far as I could tell. He’d taken a break from golf with the changing season and forged ahead full throttle into self-defense training.
I had shared with him the very basic concepts of fighting and strategy. He was only eleven, after all. With this newest episode in his young life came the responsibility of responsibility. Say what you will about youth athletics, teach kids to kick a ball, great! He joins a team, runs about a field, goes for pizza on Fridays, everyone wins. Teach a kid to kick someone in the outer thigh, where knee joint separates upper leg from lower, not everyone’s pleased. Teach him to kick deep into the middle, where air rushes out and knees buckle so a more appropriate position can be assumed to submit an assailant, well, now you’re bordering on downright criminal, at least in the streets named society and reasonable.
Rain fell upon the old barn roof, sending a sprinkling of mist below. The temperature was perfect for this type of activity. Both Ethan and I were dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, and the sweat was forming nicely about the perimeter from an hour’s worth of toil.
We finished with three, three minute bag drills, where one punched, kicked, and forearmed the heavy bag, while the other performed squats, push-ups, and shadow boxed. At the last go, Ethan fell back carefully upon the hard packed dirt floor. He was breathing moderately, his small chest lifting and falling with the exertion spent. I felt the weight of the world lift from atop my shoulders in these times of greatest effort. My soul damaged and sullied from a life’s work, took pleasure and ease from physical labors, and it showed upon my face.
"Pancakes Uncle Kevin.”
“What’s that champ?” I had been dusting the mind’s shelves as I went, but I was almost positive I heard the word pancake.
"I need pancakes, and I don’t think I can get up until I have them.” Ethan smiled as he made his pleading request.
“Then pancakes it shall be, tiny warrior.” I’d used my best Scottish accent, and for my trouble received a giggle and a sneer.
"I’m not tiny, Uncle Kevin.”
"No, I guess not, at least not as long as you’re filling that groaning belly with pancakes and sausage.”
"I didn’t even think of sausage. Yea, Uncle Kevin, let’s have sausage too, and maybe some scrambled eggs---”
"Whoa, I get it boy, you’re hungry. You go wash up and I’ll get it started.”
"Alright Uncle Kevin.”
With that he was up and running for the door. He made it all worthwhile, all bearable. Peter must have loved these types of mornings, I thought. I was finding peace through his existence. Just having him around made the difference. No brooding thoughts at all times of the day. The air seemed easier to breath, and the sun was just that much warmer on my face.
Christmas was weeks away and I had made it my mission to exercise no caution at making this place a winter wonderland. I would pick his brain at breakfast. I’m sure he had at least a few ideas at what a perfect Christmas should resemble.
Following our lumberjack breakfast, I led Ethan to a remote portion of the property where trees of all types abound. I selected one as did he for our trimming pleasure. It was what my grandfather had d
one for me when I was Ethan’s age. It was a big place, easily accommodating two trees inside the main house. One would be positioned in the front room, a shrine of sorts to Christmas past, the other in the living area where the fires were lit and tea and coffee, and now cocoa were sipped at night.
Ethan picked a monster. It would be a day’s task chopping it down. Mine was selected on the sensibility criteria, as it had to fit between Ethan, myself, the fireplace and the furniture. No such rules for Ethan.
At morning’s end we had finished with the cutting and securing of two perfect ready to adorn trees. I, along with much effort from Ethan, loaded the two onto a small flatbed trailer I had attached to the jeep. We pulled into the main drive in time to see a stranger’s car parked in front of the house. As with anything uninvited or unsolicited, the panic bell rang steadily inside my head. I had a Kimber 45 in the middle console of the jeep. I redirected Ethan’s attention as I slipped it under my belt at the small of my back. I didn’t need another confrontation in front of Ethan, especially not one where I had to shoot someone. The problem was this; our property was remote and secluded, at least by city standards. The road leading to the main house was secured by a sturdy fence and locked steel gate. Whoever drove this dark blue sedan, had no choice but to circumvent that lock, and in my mind that could mean only one thing.
I told Ethan to stay put as I inaudibly let myself out of the driver’s side. I scanned in all directions, peered intently into any crevice where someone could hide. Nothing, and why would they, they left their vehicle parked in plain sight. Perhaps I was being paranoid. That was fine, paranoid kept you alive. I saw him then, a lean, tough looking figure moving easily around the south side of my home. He was dressed in jeans, work boots, and a down parka. Something about his face reminded me of war. I had released my grip on the pistol tucked at my back. He smiled and raised his hands high enough away from his body to show me he was not a threat.
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